


A Death in Your Name

by Yanara126



Series: Watcher Favaen, an Eothas Priestess [4]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Character Death, Finding Peace, Grief/Mourning, Hypocrisy, Religion, Sibling Love, Sooooo much hypocrisy, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanara126/pseuds/Yanara126
Summary: How can one mortal soul be so important to a god?You misunderstand. I'm not Galawain or Magran, I'm not used to people dying for me.And yet they do. Some willingly, some not.Iovara's sister, inquisitor and high priestess of Eothas', has made a mistake, her way of righting it impacts more things than she's expected. Perhaps Iovara has more in common with a certain god than she likes and perhaps Eothas should rethink his actions, or lack thereof, if he doesn't like the consequences.
Relationships: Eothas & Iovara, Eothas & Iovara's sister, Eothas & The Watcher (Pillars of Eternity), Iovara & her sister, Iovara ix Ensios & The Watcher
Series: Watcher Favaen, an Eothas Priestess [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690846
Comments: 17
Kudos: 4





	1. Emblyn ix Ensios

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter suicide warning! I'm not kidding! If you're sensitive to this kind of stuff, don't read it! The other chapters should be fine, but this one is graphic.
> 
> That said, I'm fine, I promise, I'm just a sucker for tragedy.
> 
> I'm always happy about some feedback, I'd love to get better at writing.

The apostate was dead. The trial had ended and she had been sentenced to death and an eternity in Breith Eaman, unless she begged for forgiveness from the gods. There was no doubt in Emblyn’s mind that Iovara wouldn’t. Her sister had always been the more headstrong one. Emblyn had only ever followed, at first Iovara and later master Thaos. Even now she didn’t dare defy him.

  
This time she followed a path she knew well. She’d taken it thousands of times before, since she joined the order and then found her proper place. A place she’d never doubted, even when everything else had fallen apart.

  
Her boots clacked on the marble floor as she made her way through the familiar hallways. The large windows let the bright afternoon light in to illuminate the walls, but for once she paid it no mind.

  
When she entered the grand sanctuary, she wasn’t alone. Two young acolytes tended to the room, cleaning up any dirt still left from the last mass. When they noticed her, they bowed in greeting, eagerly asking her orders. Emblyn sent them away with a kind word and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  
Slower than before she stepped through the rows of well-polished, wooden benches towards the lavish altar. She brushed over the wood with her gloved hands, feeling melancholy set in. Her fingers quickly flinched away, as if they’d been burnt. Tucking her hands into her sleeves she turned away and moved swiftly onwards.

  
At the alter she took off her fine leather gloves and put them down. It would’ve been rude to pay her respects to the Light of Life with anything less than her own hands. 

  
The candles were already burning, as they always were. Since her ascension to high priestess and inquisitor she’d made sure that there were always some alight, and fresh ones were brought in as soon as the previous were too burnt down. Some of these candles she’d made herself. It was a task far beneath her station, but the simplicity of it helped ground her on bad days.

  
With a flick of her finger she ignited an incense stick and gently put it into the brass bowl. The red gleam of the stick caught her eye and she couldn’t help but watch it for a while. As simple as it was, it was an undeniable proof of her dedication. Her lips twitched upwards for a short moment. Perhaps she had a little bit of her sister in her after all. The brief moment of levity gave way to solemn silence again.

  
The hard floor pressed against her knees as Emblyn knelt before the altar. Not directly in front of it, that was the spot for the priest, but further back where the devotees would receive their blessing. Her light robes fell gently over her legs, providing the appropriate modesty, but refusing her the comfort of a layer of fabric between the stone and her skin. Good.

  
Emblyn folded her hands and stared at the spot of light in front of her. The ceiling was designed to allow a beam of light to fall through and illuminate the place before the altar, where the priest would preach to the people. How often had she stood there herself? How often had she promised the desperate redemption and forgiveness if they just asked for it? How often had she stood there after mass and thanked Eothas for the chance He’d given her?

  
Her hands started trembling and soon she was shaking all over. She may have been forgiven last time, but there was no redemption after her most recent crime. She’d done what she’d thought... no, what Thaos had thought necessary. Emblyn didn’t know if he’d been right, and she didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter in the end. No end goal could possibly justify her treason.

  
There, in the first place she’d ever truly found peace, the walls broke down. The shaking became sobbing and she pressed her folded hands over mouth, desperately trying to keep the sound of her violent sobs from filling these holy halls, even as fat tears rolled down her face.

  
She’d led her only sister not only to death, but eternal damnation. She hadn’t stopped Iovara when she’d left the order. She’d lied straight to Iovara’s face, guided her to Ossionus and right to her doom.

  
Hot tears trailed down her cheeks as Emblyn let all the atrocities she’d committed pass through her mind. Her chest hurt from her heaving sobs, but she deserved the pain. It was nothing in comparison to what she’d put Iovara through. She should have spoken up at the trial at the very latest. If not as a sister, then as the high priestess of Eothas. What a sham she was to that title.

  
When her wailing became too loud, Emblyn bit on her finger until she tasted iron. Red blood dropped from her teeth and stained her robes.

  
Now it was too late. Even if she somehow found the courage to face her sister’s final resting place, Thaos had forbidden her to go down again. He’d sent her away to find solace in her home town. As if Creitum would hold anything but hate and despair for her now, and rightly so. No, the only thing that could possibly still give her hope now, was the breaking of a new dawn.

  
Hesitantly Emblyn lifter her head to stare at the glittering beam of light before her. She imagined the familiar warm voice filling her head with soft promises of brighter days. Thaos thought she was upset about his revelation. She had been in the beginning, yet with time had come the realization that it didn’t really matter. Her god was still real, if anything the fact that kith had had the power to make him just proved that He was right. Every new dawn, every new spring time would be better than the last.

  
No, faith was no issue for Emblyn. Which was the reason she wouldn’t ask for Eothas’ forgiveness this time. Her actions were beyond redemption. She wouldn’t besmirch His sanctity by begging for His mercy and compassion when she knew she didn’t deserve it.

  
Slowly she took her hand from her mouth, giving the damage a short, dispassionate look, before carefully removing her outer cloak. Her tunic she would leave on, to provide at least a modicum of modesty, but the cloak was a symbol of a station she no longer deserved. It didn’t belong to her anymore, and there was no need to dirty it, when her successor would need it.

  
Gently Emblyn folded the cloak and put it in it’s proper place, under the light, where soon the new high priest would stand. She hoped they would appreciate the duties and privileges that came with the title. Not like her, who had grossly neglected her duty when she had been needed the most.

  
Tears welled up in Emblyn’s eyes again. She had been so proud at being handed the sacred tokens, had sworn her oath with confidence and had done her job with passion. The position of inquisitor had been a burden by comparison. She hadn’t wanted to prosecute people, but Thaos had convinced her that it was the right thing to do. After all, she would be delivering the worst of all people to redemption. It was mercy to cleanse them and give them a new chance on the wheel. Only that hadn’t been all. She had doubted, but had quashed those doubts with the assurance that her master had never stirred her wrong before. She still didn’t know how wrong she’d gone. Where was the cut to make? At the eternal imprisonments? The cleansing? Or was the whole inquisition a well-meant gesture taken too far? She wanted to believe in her mentor, believe that it was all right, but her world was breaking apart.

  
The truth wasn’t the issue, rather the fact that there was a truth at all, that it had been hidden by the very man she had trusted above any other mortal. That was what broke her. That, and the fate she had delivered her sister to at his behest, for nothing more than saying the truth. Emblyn didn’t agree with Iovara’s methods, nor with the conclusion her sister had apparently come to, but she had unravelled lies, Emblyn herself had been too blind to see. Iovara hadn’t deserved to be punished for shining a light into the darkness, no one had known to be there.

  
With her already bloodied hand, Emblyn pulled a dagger from it’s sheath at her hips, carelessly smearing blood on herself in the process. The tunic would soon be sullied anyway. 

  
The dagger itself was simple, lacking the usual ornamentation of ritual weapons. No wonder, as it hadn’t been intended as such. It was a practical piece, made for self-defence, fashioned from high quality steel, and it had served Emblyn well over the years. She’d always kept it in good condition, both because of it’s sentimental value and because she’d learnt the hard way, that having a back up weapon was not optional in the less civilized corners of the world.

  
The polished steel glinted when she held it against the light. She felt almost sorry for misusing it like that, but it was only fitting it’d be this weapon, that would allow her to do penance one final time. 

  
Emblyn held the handle in a tight grip, making her knuckles go white, and started her confession. Forcefully she grabbed a thick strand of her long, dark hair and sliced through it. She held the bundle of hair now in her fist towards the light and spoke with a shaking voice.

  
“I have brought shame over myself and neglected my sacred duty. I have disappointed the trust put in me.” The first handful of hair was thrown to the ground, spreading out over the floor. Her chest heaved with supressed sobs and she stared resentfully at the hair before angrily grabbing another bunch and slicing it off with vengeance.

  
“I have brought shadows to the dawn by spreading lies and untruths to people I was supposed to protect from them.” The next bundle landed on the ground, adding another layer of hair, another layer of shame. 

  
“I have forsaken the people who needed me most and have denied them the saving light of dawn.” Her hand shook more with that cut, leaving an ugly, uneven edge behind. More than half of her hair was gone now, sheared off with only a finger’s breadth left. With a toss the hair in her hand joined the rest on the floor. A few of them were bloody, where she’d touched them with her injured finger.

  
Emblyn grabbed what remained of her once luscious hair, tugging so hard she could feel a few of them rip out. Trembling she chopped it all off, nicking her scalp in the process, bloodying both hair and cloths. Tears running down her face she couldn’t force out the words she wanted to say and just knelt there, dagger and hair clutched tightly in her lap. After a few seconds she remembered that she had to hurry, the sanctuary wouldn’t stay empty forever. Choking down her desperate sobs once again, Emblyn laid bare her most vile and contemptible crime.

  
“I have betrayed my own sister, my own flesh and blood, and have condemned her to an eternity in darkness and suffering.” She didn’t have the strength to throw the last of her locks, all energy had left her, leaving only despair behind. It took all her strength to just open her fist and the let hair tumble to the floor in front of her.  
Emblyn stared at the hair, spread out almost like a carpet all over the marble floor, feeling vaguely sorry for the acolyte who would have to clean it up. But the far more pressing feeling on her mind, was melancholy. Iovara’s hair had been just like hers, dark and silky, a pride they’d shared years ago. The missionaries of the order usually kept few possessions, simply out of practicality, but their hair had been the one material object the two sisters had allowed themselves to delight in.

  
Slowly Emblyn saw the dark locks on the floor morph into the burnt mess Iovara’s hair had been after the trial. Crusted with blood, sheared off in places and scorched in others, it hadn’t been recognizable anymore. Just like Iovara herself.

  
Emblyn hadn’t even been allowed to keep the body. She wouldn’t have made a big spectacle out of it, she’d just wanted to properly send off her sister in a quiet ceremony, even if she knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Instead Thaos had brought back Iovara’s head, or what was left of it after the fall, and had presented it to the public. As a cautionary tale, he’d said. Emblyn didn’t know what had happened to the rest of her.

  
But it didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t deserve the kindness anyway, just like Iovara hadn’t deserved her fate. Emblyn could only hope the blank slate of the wheel would be enough to earn her a chance at redemption. Her soul would belong to different person, and she herself would only be distant nightmare. Hopefully. Perhaps her soul was already too damaged by her own atrocities. But in that case she trusted in Gaun to weed out her soul from the cycle.

  
The dagger was no longer shining when she lifted it again. The edges were red with still drying blood, giving it an ugly rusty colour. Emblyn hoped someone would take care of it later, it would be a shame to let it rust.

  
Slowly and purposefully she placed the tip of the weapon against her upper chest, between two ribs. She made sure to have a good grip with both hands and steady aim, it wouldn’t do to botch this. She could still feel the tears on her cheeks, yet her breathing had slowed down to the point that her chest hardly moved anymore. 

  
“I give up my life, so that those I wronged may find peace. I hand my soul over to You, to Your grace and mercy. Let my death be my penance, so that I may redeem myself in Your divine light, oh Eothas, Dawn of the World.”

  
After those words, Emblyn plunged the dagger into her chest with all the force she could muster. She knew she’d fail if she hesitated. 

  
The pain was immediate and hit her with vengeance, but it came too late regardless. The blade had already sunken in to the hilt, scraping bones and piercing soft flesh. Blood was trickling out of the wound, blocked only by steel instead of flesh and skin.

  
Emblyn gasped, eyes wide, and suddenly the world was thrown out of focus around her as the agony overtook everything else. She hardly noticed when her surroundings tilted and her head hit the floor, as she fell. Palming the knife, she couldn’t bring herself to pull it out. Her strength was fading fast and the world was greying already, what would be the point in trying? Even the pain faded as everything became numb and muted. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear bells ringing, but wasn’t certain if that was real or just her wishful thinking, as she laid before death’s door.

  
The world turned black for Emblyn, leaving nothing behind but a vague, quickly fading sense of relief. The cold marble under her skin was gone, as was the burning agony in her chest. The last thing Emblyn felt before her soul was carefully pulled from her dying body, was a sudden flood of deep sadness, that didn’t feel quite like her own.

She was long gone when the giant double doors opened again and a young acolyte entered, confused at finding a dark room, the candles extinguished and even the windows darkened, though it was hardly sunset. She didn’t hear his scream at finding her broken body on the floor.

  
Emblyn never knew the chain of events her shame and desperation had triggered, that would stretch over the next millennia.


	2. Twilight Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory of better times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The six people who clicked on this story may notice that it's now 5 instead of four chapters. The reason for that is, well it kind of happened. I was writing the last chapter and it somehow started a mitosis.
> 
> I didn't intend to make the references I did in this chapter, but the idea was just so nice I couldn't help myself. So I thought, why try to be subtle with the title if you're not in the story. All I could do, was give them something different than ice cream. 
> 
> I'm always happy about feedback as I'm always happy to learn to be better, especially since my brain is kind of leeched right now. 
> 
> Also, a special thanks to Orime, as I'm pretty sure they're the only one who's read this for now. Or at least the only one to leave feedback, for which I'm always grateful. :)

Emblyn sat right on the edge of the tower, watching wistfully as the sun was slowly beginning to set, casting a lovely red glow over the city. The sound of many wings in different sizes flapping behind her was a familiar background noise by now. She still wasn’t entirely sure she was actually allowed to be up here, but no one had ever told her otherwise, which was enough permission for her in this case.

  
The warmth of the day paled in comparison to the warmth she felt blooming inside herself. She’d finally done it. After years of struggling in the wrong place, she had now managed to fulfil her dream and become a missionary. She’d been ordained together with five others in a simple ceremony and had received her first mission. Tomorrow she’d leave at dawn. But today she would enjoy her last day in the place she’d come to call home.

  
“What a strange place to find an Eothas missionary.” Emblyn flinched at the sudden words from behind her, nearly falling off the ledge, then turned, a beaming smile on her face. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, even after years of separation.

  
“Iovara!” she called joyfully, jumping up into her sister’s open arms. Iovara laughed and so they stood there embracing each other for what felt like an eternity, just relishing in the other’s presence.

  
“I came when I heard you’d finally get your own blessing. I was a bit late, so I stood in the back, but I saw the whole ceremony,” Iovara mumbled into her shorter sister’s hair.

  
They hadn’t seen each other since Iovara had left for her own mission years ago. Emblyn held her a bit tighter.

  
After a few moments Emblyn relinquished her hold on her sister, stepping away a little and looking her over. Iovara had changed little at first glance, but for someone who knew her well the small changes were obvious. The lines in her face were a little harder, she’d gained a short scar under her jaw, but she still held herself in the same confident, self-assured way. And her eyes had the same warm shine, though that shine suddenly had a mischievous glint to it.

  
“Are you sure I’m not a wizard in disguise yet?” she asked with a sly grin on her face. Emblyn let out a sharp breath and slapped her sister on the shoulder.

  
“I worry about you and that’s how you repay me! Doesn’t seem terribly just, does it, oh honoured priestess of the Oathbinder Queen?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. They both giggled. Oh, how she’d missed her sister.

  
“Well, oh priestess of the Child of Light, however can I redeem myself? Oh, I know, maybe with this,” Iovara said and pulled a small pouch out of her cloak. Emblyn’s eyes grew wide.

  
“Are those honey crystals?” Iovara only grinned and shook the bag, producing slight clinking sound. Emblyn could feel herself start to drool. Honey crystals were hard to come by here, as the honey either needed to be left alone for months or be cooled down to temperatures impossible to achieve in these warm climates.

  
“Well, in that case, I suppose I can forgive you. Of course only under the condition that you intend to share these,” Emblyn said, doing her best to sound serious and not stare too hard at the desired pouch.

  
Iovara laughed again and sat down on the ledge, her sister following her promptly. They opened the bag and together started decimating it’s content. Occasionally, a bird would fly over, curious about the possible food in their hands, and they had to wave it away, careful to not the let bag fall off the tower, before digging in again with gusto. Only when the first craving was sated and their fingers properly sticky, did they slow down enough to actually have a conversation. 

  
“You haven’t actually answered my question,” Iovara declared into the comfortable silence. The answer she received was an indecipherable grumbling and she looked at her sister with a disapproving, raised eyebrow. Emblyn blushed and grumbled something else, yet dutifully keeping her mouth shut, finishing the honey crystals in her mouth. Once she finished, she swallowed once and then repeated her answer.

  
“I said, you haven’t asked me a question.” Iovara rolled her eyes.

  
“You know what I meant, but fine, be like that. I want to know why you’re up here. The bird sanctuary of the Hylea temple is hardly where I expected to find you.” Once again Emblyn found herself blushing, though she wasn’t certain why.

  
“I just... I like the view from up here. And since I leave tomorrow, I wanted to see it one last time,” she responded, avoiding her sister’s eyes. It’s not that it wasn’t true, but for some reason the sentimentality suddenly embarrassed her. She looked out over city again, where the sun was halfway sunken behind the horizon now. A warm smile bloomed on her face and the embarrassment faded.

  
“Isn’t the sunset beautiful?” Iovara looked at her with a puzzled expression.

  
“Not that I disagree, but isn’t that a rather strange sentiment for an Eothas priestess?” she asked. Emblyn looked over to her again, the gentle smile still on her lips. Iovara thought it a fitting expression for her, much better than the shy nervousness she’d worn before Iovara’s departure. The thought sent a twinge of guilt through her, but she banished it quickly. Emblyn was better now, and Iovara was determined to enjoy the time they had left together, before they would both have to leave again.

  
“You think so? But the night is what must come before the dawn, it’s the natural course of life. I like to think the last, colourful light He shines for us is Him saying goodbye for the day, and promising to return in the morning. Just like you came to say goodbye to me as well,” Emblyn answered, her dark hair shimmering in the dimming light. Iovara smiled, her sister really had found her place and she was glad for it, even if it wasn’t the same as her’s. A thought flashed through her mind.

  
“Would you let me braid your hair again? It’s been so long, my fingers are itching to do a fishtail again.” Emblyn was a bit surprised at the request, but concurred immediately. She’d always liked it when Iovara braided her hair. After their parents had passed away, it had been one of the few comforts she’d had left. Though she’d always been a bit jealous of Iovara’s seemingly effortless beauty. Nothing was effortless she knew now. Sitting on that tower and basking in the fading light of the sun with her older sister’s hands in her hair again, she remembered the times when her world had seemed the darkest.

  
The first had been after a plague had killed their parents. They’d both been children with nowhere to go, but Iovara had taken charge, had packed the few things they’d had and dragged her to the nearest missionaries, asking to become acolytes. They’d been brought to the city and had been given a new life, and the darkness had ended.

  
The second had been after Iovara had already left. Emblyn had been at fault herself that day, and still she was ashamed for her actions. There was no excuse for her mistakes and for a while she’d wanted to run and never look back. But master Thaos had convinced her that there were better ways to do penance, and so she’d left her place at the Woedica temple and had instead become an Eothas acolyte.

  
Sitting on that tower, Emblyn thanked Eothas once again, for showing her the way to dawn.

  
Iovara meanwhile had other thoughts, mainly regret. Her sister’s silky locks between her fingers and seeing her happiness made her realize the mistake she’d made in just simply dragging her along. In her defence, she’d also been a child back then, but still, the Woedica temple obviously hadn’t been the right place for Emblyn. She’d been unhappy, and Iovara could see that now. Her sister had bloomed in the Eothas clergy and difference was jarring. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but in a way she hoped, that as long as she didn’t acknowledge it, no one would know of her error.

  
The same way she had yet to acknowledge the reason her sister came to the Eothas temple in the first place. She knew only what master Thaos had told her, which wasn’t much. Just that Emblyn had had a serious lapse in judgement and had tearfully begged to be allowed to leave the order, claiming not even the gods would be able to forgive her. Iovara hadn’t asked further.

  
“How did you know where to find me anyway.” The sudden question startled Iovara out of her thoughts. She shook her head and did her best to find the joy from before again. It wouldn’t do to waste their precious little time on useless deliberation.

  
“Since I couldn’t find you in the actual temple, and no one else could tell me, I went and asked master Thaos. He told me to look up here. So, there you go,” she said, finishing the braid and giving it one light tug.

  
Emblyn went red again and lowered her head, mumbling an affirmation. Of course he knew she went up here. There seemed to be nothing he didn’t know.

  
When she looked up again, she noticed that the sky had gone almost completely dark in the meantime. They should go down again soon, they’d both have to be up at dawn the next morning. Not she ever wasn’t these days.

  
Emblyn voiced her thoughts and Iovara agreed, but stopped her for a few more moments.

  
“Before we go, I have a gift for you.” She pulled a dagger in a sheath from her hip and handed it to Emblyn. “It’s good steel. Trust me, you’ll need it out in the world. May it always protect you when you need it.” Even though the words sounded rather ominous, Iovara still smiled as she watched her sister pull the dagger out and admire it.

  
Emblyn looked the weapon over. It certainly seemed very good quality, though she wasn’t an expert on that. Every future missionary had to have at least basic weapon’s training, but she’d taken more to the flail than blades, and even then, she didn’t like violence. Nonetheless she appreciated the gift.

  
Emblyn carefully put the dagger away again, tied the sheath to her belt and then jumped at her sister once again, causing Iovara to flinch slightly from surprise, before relaxing into the hug.

  
“Thank you.” Iovara didn’t answer the whisper of gratitude, but she didn’t need to, Emblyn understood her nonetheless.

  
A colourful bird interrupted their hug finally, as it settled in Iovara’s head, proudly squawking. Emblyn giggled as Iovara made a face, not daring to move, in fear of the bird pulling on her hair. Emblyn gently lured it away with the last few crumbs of the honey crystals and put it back on one of the many wooden rods sticking out of the walls.

  
They both wordlessly decided to take that as their signal to leave, and Iovara did certainly not flee, thank you very much.

  
Together they made their way down the tower, telling stories of their little adventures and walking side by side towards the dawn of a new day.


	3. Penitence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain of loss unites and splits a god and an elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected and I still haven't quite finished the last chapter, but I have an excuse. I got my hand on a Switch a few days ago and have been playing Three Houses ever since. There is no future now, only Claude...  
> Anyway, hope you like it!

Today was a solemn day for the order of the true religion as a whole, and for the Eothas clergy in particular. Thick clouds of incense permeated the halls, accompanied by grieving songs and the sound of bells. All priests were clad in simple cloaks, wearing anything more opulent would have been bad taste. 

It had only been days ago, that the end of the Apostate had been celebrated, now triumph had given way to shocked grief. Eothas’ high priestess had been found dead in the temple’s sanctuary, her hair brutally sheared off her skull and her own dagger in her heart. 

For Thaos ix Arkannon it was... a welcome annoyance. It threw off his plans for the immediate future somewhat, but also took care of a liability. Still, it was a waste. He’d hoped the girl would overcome her doubts. Her dedication to Eothas had been a useful asset, he hadn’t made her high priestess for nothing, but obviously he’d expected too much of her. At least she’d had the decency to just kill herself, rather than follow in her sister’s footsteps. 

Iovara had been a bitter disappointment, but her sister could have been an actual threat. Her position as a high priestess could have given her the edge Iovara never had. Thankfully, she’d lacked Iovara’s pure bullheadedness and so had simply broken at the revelation. Yet another proof that what he was doing was right. Not that he needed it.

He conducted the funeral himself. Usually that job would either fall to the new head of the Eothas clergy, or Berath’s high priest, but the girl had been a well-respected figure, and with her actions against the Apostate, a hero. Making a proper martyr out of her presented a good way to cement the people’s hatred against what was left of Iovara’s following.

And so, at dawn he stood before her prepared body, looking out over the masses of people, that had gathered to send her off. He spoke the rites and told them of a brave sacrifice. How she’d done her part to end the heretics and then gave her life to Eothas, to assure the gods of her continued loyalty, and for shame of having been related in this life to the Apostate, that had denied them.

After the rites the people flocked closer to pay their respects one last time, to a woman who would soon be known as Saint Emblyn, though never officially declared such. The body had been prepared accordingly by one Berathian and one Eothasian priest, as was customary for high ranking members of the church. Clad in her ornate ceremonial robes she stood out of the masses, shining like the splendid heroine she was supposed to be, a picture of pure serenity. The only thing not entirely traditional was the veil over her face, to hide the wreckage she’d made of her hair and the wounds to her scalp. No need to harm the perfect picture.

He left after the rites were completed, he had more important things to do than feign mourning a failure. Instead he intended to use this situation to his benefit and deal yet another blow. 

Purposeful steps carried him down towards Breith Eaman, long robes swishing after him. The souls of the damned tugged at him, screaming their desperation into his very core, but he swatted them away like insects.

After a while of patient walking, he reached his goal. In the darkness down under, the only light source were the shining adra pillars, salvation and prison at once for the jailed souls. He stopped in front of one of them and waited. He had no doubt she’d come, patience was a virtue she’d never understood. 

He was of course proven right and soon a shimmering in the air, only visible to his cipher senses, appeared, forming into the picture of an elven woman out of the ether.

“Come to gloat?”, Iovara ix Ensios asked, glaring at him and chin lifted in defiance, even in death.

“I have no need of gloating,” Thaos answered calmly. His voice resonated in the stone caves in a way Iovara’s never would again. With nimble fingers he pulled a dagger from the folds of his cloak. The blade was a rusty, brownish red, only the hilt still told of it’s original steel quality.

Iovara raised a condescending eyebrow. “Not even you can kill me again with a dagger,” she said, voice dripping with contempt. 

“Ever jumping conclusions. I can see you have learnt nothing from your demise. But perhaps it will please you to know, the one responsible for it is dead.” He flipped the weapon in his hand, carefully avoiding the stained blade, showing it to her. Technically she had no eyes anymore to look at it, but he wanted to make sure she understood.

Iovara looked first at him, then at the dagger, confusion clear on her face. But then she paled, understanding setting in, as she recognized the weapon in his hand and the insinuation. She took a step back, a now obsolete reflex setting in.

“You... you wouldn’t have... She was loyal to you!” She shouted the last sentence at him, her phony body trembling. A mixture of emotions was displayed on her features, shock, disbelieve and anger taking the forefront. 

“Obviously not enough. But no, I didn’t, she took care of that herself. Your ‘truth’ broke her so much, she couldn’t bear to live with it anymore. And so, she dedicated her death to same god she devoted her life to. In a rather impressive display, really.” Contrary to his words, Thaos personally scorned the former high priestess’ methods. Though it served his purpose well enough, it was a tasteless show of melodrama.

Thaos carelessly threw the bloodied dagger to the spectre’s feet. “You can rot down here for eternity, knowing that you drove the last person you loved to suicide, and that she will be heralded as a martyr for everything you stood against.” He didn’t wait for her reply, he’d done what he’d come for. And he should be back for the lighting of the pyre at dusk.

Iovara watched her former mentor leave into the darkness of Breith Eaman and wanted to cry, not that she really still could. Not for him, never for him, but for the sister she’d lost. Technically he could have been lying, but what would have been the point? He could have tortured her just as much with the knowledge of her sister’s continued servitude to the false gods. Although, now that she stood before the choice, she’d have much rather Emblyn be still alive and happy, even if it meant she’d go against every one of Iovara’s believes.

Even after all that had happened, Iovara couldn’t hate her sister. She couldn’t, and most likely wouldn’t ever, understand her choices, she was sad about what their relationship had become, and for a while she had even been angry, but hate eluded her.

Even long after Thaos had left, Iovara retained her corporeal form. There was no one around to see her and her senses worked just fine without it, but her death was only a few days past and habits die hard, unlike bodies. 

The dagger on the floor before her adra prison felt like a gravestone, though whose she wasn’t certain. It was a well calculated, cruel mockery of Thaos to leave it there. She had no hands anymore to pick it up and throw it away, or even eyes to turn in another direction, though she still pretended to, so there was no way for her to remove it from her perception, forever forced to be aware of the weapon that had supposedly taken her sister’s life. A weapon Iovara had given her herself, on the last day they’d met in peace.

Iovara didn’t know how long she remained there, her perception of time lost to the darkness both around and in her, and only the howling of the other damned souls in the distance for company. Desperation gnawed at her, desperation to know if it was true, if her little sister had really spent her last seconds despairing and alone, because of Iovara’s choices. But no one would tell her, no one could tell her, because the only one who could possibly know, was the one claiming it. Except maybe...

For the first time since she’d left the order, Iovara felt her determination waver. Doing this would go against everything she’d lived and died for, and there was no guarantee it would even work, but she couldn’t just simply leave it, if there was even the slightest hope for certainty. She remembered what Thaos had said, before she’d been pushed down the hole. The gods hear everything... And if Emblyn had been right, there might even be one who’d answer.

“Eothas,” she spoke into the darkness. It wasn’t a question. She might be desperate enough to speak to a phony god, but she wouldn’t submit to him, not even with words.

For a while nothing happened. The adra around her shimmered in the same green, the darkness unbroken, aside from the quiet howling in the background. Iovara was ready to give up and wait for Thaos to return to try and grill him for details, no matter how futile an attempt, when the adra suddenly lit up, filling the stone tunnels with more light than had ever been down here. A presence, far heavier than Iovara had ever felt before, spread through the stony tunnels.

 _Do you wish to repent?_ The adra flickered in time with the steady words, creating an eerie atmosphere, that was somehow both enhanced and hindered by the calm softness of the voice. The voice itself didn’t resonate, much like hers, but the room was filled with an undeniable energy, that vibrated deep in her soul.

Iovara flinched and bristled, but remembered why she’d called him in the first place. Angering him wouldn’t get her any answers. So instead of snapping at him like she wanted, she pushed down her anger, until it only showed in the tightness of her voice.

“You know I don’t. I want answers.” There was a short silence and the god seemed to debate his response. Or maybe he just wanted to seem more dramatic, Iovara wouldn’t be surprised.

 _What makes you think I will give them?_ The tone was completely neutral and entirely inoffensive. Iovara didn’t believe it for a second.

“If you’re even half the god, or even person, my sister thought you to be, you will.” Iovara really tried not to be confrontational, she really did, but she also had no patience for this. “But if you’re a hypocrite like the rest of them, please prove me right, oh god of truth.”

Again, silence reigned over the room. The only sign he hadn’t just left was the strange lighting that remained. If Iovara still had them, she would be tapping her feet with impatience. As it was, she refrained from doing so, the wrong sound of her voice was unsettling her enough already.

Finally, after a time that felt like an eternity, the voice returned. _My answer will depend on your question._ What a convenient out for him, but Iovara supposed it was better than nothing. He could have simply ignored her (like Woedica had, when she’d still had hope). 

She wanted to ask then. If her sister was really dead, if she’d done it because of her, with the weapon Iovara had given her. She couldn’t. No matter how much she tried, the words wouldn’t form into the sentences she willed them into.

In the end she settled on: “Is it true, what Thaos said?”

The adra crystals flickered stronger and the atmosphere suddenly tightened. Iovara felt her grip on her corporeal form slip, as the essence all around was pushed away by an enormous force. For the first time Iovara was scared of what she meddled with, as she felt the true magnitude of what the Engwithans had created.

The push ended as abruptly as it had started and the room was as calm as before, as if nothing had happened. Iovara was shaken to the core, the tearing hadn’t exactly been painful, but so insistent that she had no doubt, she wouldn’t be able to stop him, if he desired her gone. 

She didn’t understand what had triggered it. Surely he’d already known what she was about to ask and if he’d wanted to demonstrate his power, shouldn’t he have done it already?

 _Very little that man says can be considered true._ Iovara flinched when the god spoke again, tensing in useless defence. He was as calm as before, but the voice had taken on a cooler, harder tone. _But the one you knew as Emblyn ix Ensios is dead._

Those words were enough to shatter what remained of Iovara’s world. She’d driven her little sister to suicide. If only she’d taken Emblyn with her that day. Surely she could have found a way to convince her... But she’d been too angry then, to think of anything but leaving, and later too arrogant to realize, that her little sister had grown up and wouldn’t just simply follow her anymore.

She wanted to fall to her knees, sob, and tear her hair out, and perhaps she did in a way. What was the point in keeping up appearances, like a body? She was dead, and now there was no one who’d care anymore. Everyone she’d ever loved was dead. Her surroundings faded to her own crushing sadness, giving way to the swirling greys of the aether.

 _It wasn’t your fault._ Suddenly she was back, grounded in a reality she didn’t want. The partial darkness of Breith Eaman greeted her again, and so did the anger. 

How dare this fraud think himself entitled to lay or take blame?! None of this was his to decide! Nothing was!

“And how would you know?! You obviously didn’t help her!” Neither had she, but hating him was easier than facing that. Oh, and how much she hated him. For how he’d given Emblyn and all the others false hope, for something that was never true to begin with. For how he’d let her die...

 _You are right. I was too late._ The solemn admission startled her. Never had she heard of any god admitting a mistake, and the idea that they even could was... strange. Yet she couldn’t doubt his sincerity, though she tried. There was something in the flat way he’d said it, and the suddenly dimmer light around her that made her think, maybe he did actually care, at least a little.

But then Iovara remembered who she was talking to. This wasn’t just a simple bystander, he’d had every opportunity to do something, anything, to stop it, and he hadn’t used any of them. Rage flooded her, making the edges of her form fizzle as she lost focus. But before she could do something (as if there was anything she could do), he continued, his tone aloof, yet drenched in a sadness that Iovara felt deep in her core.

_I only noticed when she called on me, and by then I could not help her anymore. But she did not want you to suffer, so it is for her sake that I assure you, it was not because of your actions, that she did what she did._

“How would you even know that? If she... if you...!” Iovara had never had trouble finding the words, but this time language failed her. 

_I felt it._ That answer was so prompt, it jarred her out of her anger and she stared at the shining adra crystals in confusion.

“You what?” A charged silence followed, and Iovara wasn’t certain if it was just her frustration or something else that made air feel so tight. Then suddenly something uncoiled and the light turned warm and dim.

_It is my duty to bring about a new turn of the Wheel for the souls whose mortal forms have passed. But sometimes those souls are... damaged. Either by multiple small moments over the course of many lives, or by one terrible, traumatic event. Most of the time those souls naturally split up or join with others, but at times they are too broken to survive the Wheel._

Are terrible sense of dread overcame Iovara. Why was he telling her that? Did that mean Emblyn could not even be reborn? She wanted him to stop, but at the same time she had a sick desire to know.

 _Occasionally I... shelter those souls, until they have healed enough to re-join the cycle._ The voice trailed off, almost as if he didn’t dare continue. The insinuation was clear nonetheless.

Iovara stared into the air around her, not really seeing anything, as she let those words sink in. Her anger fizzled out and the reality he’d just described was impressed on her mind. Not only had her sister been desperate enough to take her own life, she’d broken so horribly, that the Wheel would have ground her soul into dust, had the god before her not intervened. 

It was a lot harder to hate him now. Harder, but not impossible. Resentment for him and his kind still burned hot at her core, but now it was accompanied by a grudging, more personal gratitude. For some reason it never even occurred to her that he could be lying. Perhaps Emblyn’s unending faith in him had rubbed off on her more than she’d thought.

She tried to say something, anything, perhaps even thank him, but no words wanted to form. The conflict inside her didn’t allow for any expression of either gratitude or anger to be made, and so she settled on a non-committal hum.

Eothas seemed to understand anyway, and didn’t pressure her for an answer. The crystals lit up softly, creating almost the illusion of a nod.

Another silence reigned over the room, less tight than before, but heavy with things left unsaid.

Something still bugged her, something that had nothing to do with Emblyn’s reasoning, but rather with his.

“Why her? What made her so special, that you’d go out of your way to talk to me, the declared enemy of all religions?” Iovara loved her sister, she really did, and she could understand a certain amount of favouritism, but why a god would bother with her, even for Emblyn’s sake, she couldn’t understand.

There was a slight tug on her essence, not harsh like before, but rather like a slight breeze. For a second Iovara resisted, but then her curiosity won out and she gave in, letting the energy tug her away from the darkness of the moment. 

What she found were flashes of pictures, each a moment of Emblyn’s life. Her kneeling before an altar, tears on her face and asking for forgiveness. Her before the same altar, nervously putting a candle on it. Her making another candle, tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. Her standing at a window, looking out at the dawn with a smile.

Iovara watched as Emblyn grew older and more comfortable with each picture, and saw just what she’d missed of her sister’s life, while she was off, living her own.

The pictures were strangely tinted, not really with colours, but coloured emotions. The first were in a grey, polite indifference, that slowly grew lighter as a slight fondness started blooming. It stayed like that for a while, but then a few things changed. Emblyn grew more confident and started actively helping people. On her mission, she didn’t stay in her little church to preach, but rather went outside to aid the people with her hands as well as tongue. 

The tint grew into a curious affection, as Iovara watched Emblyn happily teach a group of children to read using Eothasian prayers. Another time she wove clothes with the women of a village, while telling stories. By the time Emblyn returned to the temple and was consecrated as high priestess, a loving respect coloured the pictures. 

The stream of images came to a sudden stop, and Iovara found herself back in her prison, jarred and disappointed at the abrupt end.

 _She asked, and listened when I answered. That deserves a reward._ Eothas’ voice lacked any of the emotions she’d just seen. It was a cool, factual statement, as if it was merely a matter of transaction, and Iovara could only stare, completely bewildered. Who was he trying to fool?

Or perhaps... did he not know, that she had seen these moments? Well, if he decided to be difficult about this, so would she, and for once she had the advantage.

“A reward? So what, you approve of her killing herself? Is that one of the things they teach in your clergy?” She knew it wasn’t, but she wouldn’t let him get away with half-truths if she could. The fact that he’d already been far more forthcoming than any other god was not going to stop her from needling the truth out of him. Emblyn deserved better. Iovara deserved better.

 _You misunderstand. I am not Galawain or Magran, I am not used to people dying for me._ That sentence ended their almost truce immediately. If Iovara had been petty with her annoyance before, she was furious now. Eothas’ almost defensive tone only served to make her angrier.

“Oh no, you don’t get to say that! People were murdered in your name!” She practically shouted the words, her figure flickering again with unsuppressed fury. She didn’t remember throwing her arms out or stepping further into the caves, yet there she stood, hands balled into fists, glaring at the shining adra. “I was murdered for you!”

 _That was never my intention._ There was something defeated in those words, as if he’d said them a million times already, and was tired of it, though to who, Iovara could only imagine. Not that she wanted to. Her grudging respect for him had fizzled away. Of course he was just like the rest of them, denying responsibility for the atrocities committed in their names.

For Emblyn, she reminded herself, for Emblyn. And so, she reigned her anger in, accepted his answer and stepped back. She didn’t hide her distaste, she doubted she would be able to anyway, but refrained from further provoking him. Iovara turned away from the cave system and the luminous crystals to face her own, personal prison. A purely symbolic gesture, neither of them had an actual physical form, yet the intent behind it was obvious.

Eothas seemed to accept her dismissal, the light in the adra slowly dimming and the weight of his presence lifting. 

Before he was gone completely, he stopped. A sliver of light separated from the crystal and gently moved towards her, or rather towards something before her. With a start Iovara remembered the bloody dagger, just as it started to glow softly.

“Leave it,” she told him, voice hard and cool. “It’ll serve as a reminder.” A reminder of what, she wasn’t sure herself. Perhaps she just wanted to deny him this one last thing. The glow let up and vanished again.

 _I will not let her come to harm._ She gave him no reaction, but he didn’t seem to expect one. The words just hung in the air unacknowledged, a last steadfast promise, ignoring their opposite sides.

The remaining light retreated, and soon Iovara was alone again, with only the screams of the other trapped souls for company. That, and the dagger. He’d left it, as she’d asked, and it glared up at her from it’s place in the dirt, no longer bloodied, but shining like the day she’d given it to Emblyn. A reminder indeed.

With the target of her ire gone, the fire went too, and all that was left was emptiness, and the certainty that she was going to spend eternity down here, drowned in darkness. 

She finally let the illusion of her body vanish, melting into the realm between. The gravestone she’d chosen for herself remained visible for all to see, if ever someone would come, and for none to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed one of Eothas' lines in making it cursive, please tell me. AO3 sadly deletes the cursive when I copy it in, so I have to redo it and sometimes miss something.  
> Also, I've somehow made the beginning of Deadfire way more painful for me...


	4. Gravity of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iovara meets Emblyn again, almost two thousand years after their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is almost finished, so I'm fine with uploading this one now. Technically, it's a bit of a canon divergence, but since it's so tiny I don't find it wort tagging. It's more about motivations than actions, and the talk goes a bit differently than in the game, but all essential plot points remain.   
> Also, quick warning, I played the game in german, so the few lines taken from the actual game are translated by me, so they're probably not the exact same as in the original, though I doubt anyone's gonna notice.  
> If you haven't read "Atonement" yet, I suggest you click back in this series a bit and do it now. It's not necessary per se, but it would help understand my Watcher a bit better.
> 
> Enjoy!

Almost two thousand years had passed since her death, and she’d spent most of them alone. The others, many of whom she’d known in life, had long since begged forgiveness. She’d been angry in the beginning, angry that they’d forsake all they’d worked for, angry that they’d forsake her. But two thousand years was a long time, and the flames had gone out.

Iovara had been sure, that she would spend the rest of eternity alone in darkness and silence, when even Thaos stopped coming to torment her. It was a sad certainty, but one she’d learnt to... well not live with, but to endure.

But then something strange happened. At first only slowly, so that she almost didn’t notice it, but soon the stream of souls once again flowing through Breith Eaman swelled, to the point where Iovara thought there had to be another inquisition. Yet the souls didn’t stay, weren’t bound to a single prison like she was. Instead they surged through, further into the earth, down, where she knew Sun in Shadow to be. It worried her, but what could she do about it, stuck as she was?

And then some time later, she had lost any precise sense of time long ago, Thaos came again. He didn’t come to her, but she didn’t need to see him to know he was there. The essence of souls permeating the place reacted to him, became denser, as if it was trying to both flee and follow him at the same time.

Then, completely out of nowhere, another familiar presence entered her perception, one she hadn’t expected to ever feel again. 

Emblyn.

No, not Emblyn, but who she’d become in this life. Even in a new body, carrying new scars, there was no doubt that it was her. The familiarity almost made her dizzy, and for a moment Iovara could pretend everything was like before, before everything had crumbled around them. 

But then reality returned, and she noticed all the things that had changed. She didn’t recognize the face her sister carried, or the way she held herself. The clothes she wore were different from anything Iovara had ever seen before, yet undeniably still the robes of an Eothas priestess. As much as that irked her, it also gave her a sense of stability she hadn’t known she wanted. At least it seemed the god had kept his promise.

Others followed her, and for the first time Iovara noticed how her perception had really changed with her death. Thaos had shielded himself from her it seemed, for she could see far more of these people than she ever had before, the scars and doubts their souls carried, and also the bonds they had formed with each other. Like colourful silk ribbons they spread between, some stronger, some more flimsy, some straight, some with knots in them. It was a strange sight, but also comforting to see, that Emblyn had found a place for herself. 

They stopped in front of her prison and Iovara felt a gentle tug on her soul. She let it pull her out and constructed her corporeal form, for the first time in almost two millennia. 

“Hello, sister. It’s truly been an eternity.” Emblyn blinked at her, only a spark of recognition in her eyes, the same way, one might recognize a stranger, one had seen before. Because that’s what Iovara was now, a stranger. Trying to bury the hurt deep down, where no one would see it, she asked: “What brings you here?”

“It seems, I still have something to settle here,” Emblyn (not Emblyn) answered, hesitant, but steady. Looking at her again, Iovara could indeed tell, that something was off. Her soul didn’t seem as tethered to her body as it should be, slightly misplaced, though not enough to present an actual danger, and a bit... wrinkled in places. Not torn, but marked. The dark-haired elf behind her had a similar feel, though not quite the same.

And now that Iovara thought about, why could Emblyn (not Emblyn) even see her? She didn’t seem to be a cipher, so... a watcher? Yes, that had to be it. She’d heard of the talent, though never seen it.

Emblyn (not Emblyn) told her of Thaos’ latest scheme. It didn’t surprise her. It seemed that even though the world had changed, the players hadn’t. What a waste of life and energy this was, yet what could she expect from Thaos. He’d never thought suffering worth of notice.

“You knew me, when Thaos knew me also. I need to know something about that time. There was something in that life, that my soul can’t let go of. I need to know what it is, but I’m running out of time. I see moments from back then, you, the inquisition, Thaos.” There was desperation in the request, that broke Iovara’s heart again. The woman before her, the body that was so obviously not Emblyn, looked like she hadn’t slept in months. Though she held herself with confidence, head held high with the practice of a missionary used to leading and convincing people, it was a crumbling one. Iovara didn’t want to keep digging into those wounds, but at same time a small voice to the back of her mind whispered hopeful things to her, that perhaps if she gave this woman answers, she would get answers from her sister too.

With a viciousness she didn’t know she still had, Iovara shoved the voice back and swore to help Emblyn find the peace she’d apparently been denied all these years. 

“I can see his influence still hanging like a sword over your neck. Just like it always has. He... inspired something in you. Something that held you so tightly, that you doubted what I taught until the end.” Iovara trailed off, suddenly aware of where exactly this was going to go. She wanted to help, truly, but she was all at once reminded of how it had ended last time. 

“And what was that?” For the first time Iovara hesitated to answer, fearful of what that answer would unleash. She stalled for time, looking at the other people in the room, frowning a little. They saw her, that much was clear, their eyes fixed on her form with varying degrees of excited curiosity and confusion, though how was something she could only speculate on. Perhaps the bonds had something to do with that. 

She couldn’t stall forever however and they deserved an answer, just like everyone did. Iovara sighed.

“That the gods aren’t real.” The reactions of her companions were what she’d seen many times before, denial, tentative humour, and hesitant acceptance, but it was Emblyn (not Emblyn) Iovara’s attention was focused on. A confused frown marred her features, not the shock Iovara had expected. “What I taught was, that the gods, whose faith we spread, weren’t gods, but something completely different. Something made by people.”

“So, you founded your own faith?” It was an honest question without contempt or sarcasm. What a strange thing to take from that revelation, but thinking about it Iovara could only agree.

“I never thought about it as faith, but I think you’re right to call it that. Let people see and decide for themselves, that was my faith.” And perhaps she’d had faith, that the people would make the right decision and turn away from the false gods, but with a short look at the Eothas symbols, she decided that she didn’t want to make this harder than it needed to be.

And so they talked. Iovara shared her story and the things she’d learnt in a far calmer and more relaxed setting than she ever had before. There were no stakes, nothing to achieve, no one to surpass, only a story to tell. And they listened. She could feel their disbelief, but they listened and thought about it without arguing. Even the angry priest, who Iovara could tell wanted to shut her up more than anything, clamped his mouth shut, muscles in his jaw tight and bulging, but he was silent.

She told them the truth, how the gods were false and made out of the desperation of a people who couldn’t live with the answer to their questions. She told them how she found out about the truth, overhearing two engwithan missionaries and finding it to be true. She carefully skimmed over the details to her personal life.

The inevitable question came, as it had to.

“Is it true?” A simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, but Iovara knew it wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, as she saw the doubt in those eyes. Eyes that looked different than she remembered, yet oddly the same.

“You asked me that before, but nothing I can say would be the proof you seek. If you want certainty, you need to continue on, follow the flow of souls, and you will find what I found. An answer... and more questions.” She kicked something loose then, some old reflex that she hadn’t used in two millennia. She wanted to convince, and she would use every tool at her disposal. As she let her perception wander over the colourful group of people, she saw the doubts in each of their souls, like she never had before, and dragged them out. 

Iovara didn’t quite understand some of her own questions and references. The tragedies the blond man still couldn’t leave behind or understand. The strife the Magran priest had with his goddess or the actions gnawing at his soul. The ideas of unity the aumaua carried. But she knew enough to aim there, those weak points in their confidence. When she turned back to Emblyn (still not Emblyn) the words flowed out of mouth before she could stop them.

“What, if we couldn’t be sure of anything?” The woman before her took her time answering. With a thoughtful expression and pursed lips, she stared into the nothing for a while, and Iovara let her. Rushing an answer would help no one, and Iovara knew herself how difficult acceptance was. The answer that came was one she’d certainly never heard before.

“What would it change?” Iovara stared in confusion. She’d heard many things, but this surprised her. Emblyn, no definitely not Emblyn, seemed to notice the confusion of those around her and tried again. “What I mean is, we already can’t be sure of anything. There are eleven gods, and eleven ways to look at things. Obviously, they’re not sure about anything, or they’d all want the same, so why should we be? Everything’s a matter of how you look at it anyway. Don’t get me wrong, this is... shocking. It gives perspective and people should know about it, but in the end it doesn’t change anything. The gods are still real, and if you step on one’s toes, they’ll step on you. Some of them at least. Someone’s origin doesn’t decrease the value of who they are.” She ended the impromptu speech with a shrug, as if she herself didn’t know what to do with that. Iovara sure didn’t and neither it seemed did anyone else. Silence reigned, until the blonde man started laughing. It was a loud, genuine laugh, that made his whole chest vibrate.

“If there’s anyone who can give me an existential crisis and solve it in the same conversation, it figures it’d be you.” He stepped forward and lovingly patted her on the shoulder, a large, fond, and somewhat exasperated smile on his face. The rest seemed less sure, but still followed his example and relaxed. It was... endearing, in a way Iovara hadn’t expected. It made her almost jealous to watch, a feeling she’d never associated with Emblyn of all people.

“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” she admitted, after having swallowed down the strangely bitter feeling. “I’ve been down here so long, it seems my rhetoric skills are somewhat rusted.” Despite her own conflicted feelings, she was glad. This was what she’d asked for so long ago. For Emblyn to be happy, even if it went against her own believes. She wouldn’t begrudge her this. She wouldn’t.

Still, there was this burning question, that just wouldn’t leave her alone, no matter how much time passed. And now she had the chance for an answer, she couldn’t let that go to waste.

“I’ve been alone with my thoughts for so long, I’ve made peace with my mistakes and punishment. But there is one thing, that I can only put to rest once I know, once I understand.” Iovara hesitated for a second, as she watched the woman before her. This woman, who was so clearly not her sister, and yet looked at her with the same patient acceptance as Emblyn had. “I need to know why you decided to stay loyal to the inquisition, even when you knew the truth. Do you... do you remember?” Why, Emblyn, why?

“I think... it’s not the inquisition I stayed loyal to, that was... an unfortunate side effect. It was Him. Him and Thaos.” Iovara watched as her eyes became glassy, looking into a different time and space, a different life. Her hand held onto the small Eothas symbol on her necklace, like an anchor to the here and now. “I... I followed Thaos, because he made me think it was right. Until I didn’t.” 

She started trembling and Iovara began to regret asking, but then the elf stepped forward, a worried frown on his face. He grasped her shoulder in a gentle, but firm grip and she slowly stopped shaking. After a deep breath and grateful look in his direction, she turned back to Iovara, more confident and steadier than before.

“Whatever her reasoning was back then, I want you to know I am sorry for those actions, and I can only hope you will forgive me for them.” Though without a doubt earnest, the words felt... learnt somehow. With a start Iovara realized, that she must have said them many times before, and had probably meant them every single time. Again, those eyes got her, shining with sincerity and an underlying spark of fear. Much like Emblyn’s had once. 

“I’ve always forgiven you. I may not have understood, but I could never hate you. And I suppose that you didn’t either will have to be enough assurance.” They both smiled at each other, and for a moment all Iovara could see was Emblyn back on that tower, bathed in the light of the setting sun, finally content. The moment ended, but for some reason Iovara didn’t mind that. Even though the answer she’d gotten could barely be called that, it was somehow enough. She’d always question, but at least now she knew, her sister hadn’t hated her. 

A sudden gasp pulled Iovara out of her blissful contemplation, and the priestess pulled out a dagger from under cloak, holding it out to her. Iovara almost flinched when she saw it. She’d done so well ignoring it, that she’d apparently overlooked her picking it up. 

“I found this here on the floor, is it yours?” The question was so innocent it was startling. As though this was just another weapon, as though this wasn’t the same dagger that had violently ended her life once. The blade had caught quite a bit of dust over the course of many centuries, but with a bit of cleaning it would be as good as new again.

“Keep it, it was yours once.” It took her only a split second to decide, but she knew it was right. Perhaps the dagger could be put to good use once more, even after the act it had been used for. She almost wanted to giggle at the thought, redemption for a knife.

A nod confirmed her wish, and the dagger was put away again. Iovara was prepared to say goodbye now, the group before her still had something important to do and she’d already taken up more of their time than was good, but still the woman before her hesitated.

“If you want, I could help you. You don’t have to stay here. And I know you don’t want to ask for forgiveness, but I could help you back to the wheel myself.” A sweet offer, but one she couldn’t accept.

“Thank you for the offer, but even so, it would make everything I worked for null.” The priestess only nodded, sad, but not surprised at her declining.

“I disagree, but I will respect your wish.” She motioned for her friends to follow and started down the path further into the caves. Just before leaving the room, she turned back to Iovara, who’d watched her leave, a wistful smile on her face. “I’ll come back when I have time.” 

She didn’t give Iovara time to deny her, and instead just turned back and left. The blonde human stayed behind for a second and shot Iovara an affectionate, wordless look, that clearly said ‘what can you do?’, before following her down the stone path. Iovara watched the empty space for a while, contemplating what had just happened, before letting her form disperse and drawing back into her adra prison once more.

“I hope you find your answers, sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains my short headcanon about how watchers work, hope you like it if you noticed.


	5. A Life in Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eothas is not how Iovara remembers. But then neither is she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Orime I'm gonna post on Tumblr now too!

Again, time passed, though even Iovara could tell it was significantly less than before. Then suddenly, the flow of souls stopped and Thaos’ presence disappeared, as if it had never been. It was startling to have the pressure of his power vanish from one moment to the next. Shortly afterwards, the accumulated souls left as well, though where to Iovara couldn’t tell. Somewhere in the distance she could feel her sister and her friends leave, their souls’ absence leaving a hole in her perception, that hadn’t been there before. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret meeting the group, her sister’s incarnation most of all.

Though the years in loneliness had smothered the fire of her anger, it had left a different hole behind, gaping and terrifying. A part of it had been filled through the conversation, the largest in fact, but a slight nagging was still there. Iovara knew how to satisfy it, but that didn’t make it easier to jump over her shadow. The metaphorical one anyway.

For a while she fought with herself, but she’d never been good at denying herself, and she knew that this was something she had to do. Holding a grudge for two thousand years was hard, even for her. And so she gave in and built her projection once more. Technically there was no need to, he would be able to sense her with or without a physical shape, but she felt there was certain politeness in making herself as visible as possible.

“Eothas.” Iovara waited. Patience was not an issue for her anymore, she had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, only this moment and eternity. Slowly, far more slowly than that time millennia ago, his presence trickled in filling the adra around her and casting an invisible mist over everything. The light growing in strength seemed more muted than Iovara remembered, but she dismissed the thought. Years of darkness and loneliness were hardly conducive for one’s memory.

Even once he was clearly there, he remained silent, no question about her call, no comment on the time, just patiently waiting for her to start. So, she did.

“You never really let go of her, didn’t you?” Only once she’d said it did she realize, how much like an accusation it sounded, even though she surprisingly hadn’t meant it as one.

_I suppose._ His answer wasn’t defensive or even frustrated, instead it was... small somehow, and sad. Like he was expecting a reprimand. How strange...

“Is her hair your fault too?” Iovara did her best to alleviate the strange atmosphere with a joke. She hadn’t called him to argue again. And the light blonde hair with the red touch in combination with a priestess’ garb really had awoken certain suspicions in Iovara.

_Hardly. I have less influence on physical attributes than most think. Though I have heard it referred to as sun-kissed._ A slight note of satisfaction rang with the words, causing Iovara to doubt them somewhat, but for once in her long existence she found she didn’t mind this secret.

“I just met her. Emblyn-“

_Favaen._ Iovara stopped short at the interruption and stared confusedly into the nothing, waiting for Eothas to explain. _Her name is Favaen._ Ah, that made sense, of course she had a new name now. Somehow knowing that made her both sad and happy. It was the undeniable proof that her life as she knew it was over, something she had known, but never really seen until now. On the other hand, it was also proof that not everything relied on her, her failure didn’t mean the world’s end, life still continued. Oh, the irony of welcoming the same wheel she had cursed for so long...

“Favaen. I hope she found the answers she was looking for.” At some point it might’ve been a hidden question, but not anymore. Em- Favaen had promised to return after all, Iovara would ask her then.

_I think she did._ Eothas answered anyway, though Iovara had the feeling he wasn’t saying everything he thought. The absence of her burning curiosity was something she still had to get used to.

Something else was burning though, something that had been a quiet buzz just hours ago and had grown into an urgent need after her talk with Favaen.

“Thank you.” She spoke the words far steadier than she ever would have thought, a declaration of sincerity, as much as her speeches against him and his kind had ever been. “For taking care of her when I couldn’t.” Both before and after her death was what went unsaid.

For a while nothing happened, but Iovara was used to his stretches of silence by now. What she wasn’t used to was the strange way the atmosphere grew heavier, not threateningly, but sombre somehow. And yet, she’d only talked with him once and that was millennia ago, who was she to judge what was normal for him.

_I didn’t do it for you._ A fair point, made not unkindly, but without doubt or reluctance.

“I know,” Iovara nodded. “But that doesn’t change my gratitude.” The years in solitude had given her time to reflect. It wasn’t about her, it had never been about her, and she’d been foolish to ever think so. Just like it wasn’t about him either, though if he knew that she couldn’t tell.

The adra lit up lightly, a show of acceptance she knew now. For a while silence reigned again, but instead of being tense or loaded like before, it was now... not exactly comfortable, but based on enough agreement that it was tolerable.

For some reason Iovara had the feeling that he was almost soaking up the silence. As dim and heavy as everything seemed, there was also a vague sense of comfort from the adra. Why he would enjoy her company of all things Iovara didn’t know, it wasn’t like he was the one with no social contact for years.

After a while of quiet contemplation with only the soft, low hum of energy in the air, Iovara broke the silence once more, spurred by the strange ghost of loneliness and regret she couldn’t interpret, but felt a certain kinship for nonetheless.

“For what it’s worth, if she had to choose, I think she chose well.” She really did, though it had taken her a long time to accept it. Her sister had made her choice, as much as Iovara had, and after seeing what had become of her, Iovara could finally admit that it had hardly been the worst choice she could have made. Woedica had dropped Iovara the second she had started asking questions, but Eothas had stayed true to his word and had protected her over the course of millennia.

Yet instead of helping the sad atmosphere, her words only seemed to make it worse, as the light grew even dimmer, shadows creeping into the corners of the room. Just when Iovara decided to give up on her newly found contentment with mysteries and ask, the adra brightened again, as if nothing had happened.

_Thank you._ The words were smooth and sincere, but without the edge of emotions Iovara had come to expect. _You gave her the dagger._ That startled her out of suspicions and she focused on the spot on the stone ground, where for years her chosen gravestone had rested. Now instead of the dagger, there was only a vaguely oval shape in the dust.

“You disagree?” she asked, genuinely interested, though his opinion wouldn’t change anything. He’d wanted to take it back then, yet had obliged her wishes to leave it. Now she’d given it away. Would he be frustrated?

_Disagree is too strong a word. I am... hesitant. But it is not my decision to make._ Forcefully Iovara was reminded of her own outbreak the last time they met, yet she also thought she hadn’t actually said those words. To hear them now from him was strangely disorienting. She was now sure something had changed him, tough was that really so surprising? She had changed, even completely alone and isolated, while he had spent the time watching the whole world change around him.

He seemed to sense her racing thoughts, or perhaps it was something completely different, but the shadows started rising again, as the light of the adra ebbed away, the energy making the crystals pulsate with urgency and something else, that Iovara couldn’t identify properly.

_I have to leave now._ The sentence was hacked off and rushed, and he was gone far faster than he’d come, leaving Iovara behind, stunned at his sudden disappearance. For all her earlier thoughts of change, patience and contentment, she was still affronted at the rude departure. And a departure it most certainly was. All traces of his existence had vanished, the weight of his presence lifted, and only the dim, natural glow of the adra was still visible in the all-encroaching darkness.

This wasn’t what Iovara had expected from this talk. He hadn’t at all been what she remembered. Instead of the confident, righteous god, who’d let her live out her anger without so much as a twitch, he’d seemed almost broken, fearful of something Iovara couldn’t imagine.

Although... perhaps she could. After all, the reason Em- Favaen had come here in the first place had been Thaos stealing souls from the wheel. Though Thaos had once upon a time been loyal to the gods in general, from what Favaen had told her it sounded as though he’d followed Woedica into her exile. The terrible things he’d done before, in the name of spreading the faith, had been atrocities, but only against kith. He’d never disturbed the divine order like this before, and though Iovara had no doubt about Woedica’s willingness to do so, she doubted the god of rebirth had been very happy about souls being stolen from right under his nose. The fact that someone could, must have been quite the shock to him, so maybe his twitchiness wasn’t all that surprising.

With one last head shake Iovara let her form vanish again. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her problem anymore. She was sure Favaen would set him right soon enough, now that Thaos was out of the picture. And maybe she’d even hear about it later, once Favaen came back.

Though Iovara knew she wasn’t really her sister, there was still a familiarity between them, that had stretched across the years and lives. Or maybe it was just that she was starved for any sort of attention after so long. Either way it didn’t matter.

For the first time since her death she found herself hopeful for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this thing is finished! The next one's probably gonna be a short Adaryc one-shot since that one's almost finished.  
> A short question: I've started writing something with an OC in Waidwen's time, would you rather I just post it or would you rather I first write a one-shot with Waidwen and the Watcher with a bit of an introduction? I plan on doing both things and I can't promise to follow wishes, but depending on the answer I may do one sooner than the other. Again, can't promise anything, cause it all depends on my muse, but I can try.

**Author's Note:**

> Emblyn is a cornish name, for anyone curious.


End file.
